A Journey for Home
by avaliabrun
Summary: A short story I wrote for school a while back, set in the warriors' universe but with my own characters. Enjoy and please review, even if you hate it.


I squirm, nestling against my mother's soft fur as she grooms my belly with her tongue. "Tell me again. About the humans." She stops bathing me and fixes me with a disapproving look. "I think we've had enough fiction for one kitten tonight." Mother starts to lie down again, and I decide to get her attention. I sigh, squirming a little more to accidentally on purpose graze my claws against her side. "OUCH" she says, boxing me none too gently across the ear. "PLEEAZ?" I say trying to sound desperate. I huddle down and fix her with my most pleading gaze, while being practically smooshed against the wall of our burrow. "If I must," says mother, relenting. "Far, far off, where the trees end, and the river runs strong, there are creatures. Huge creatures that walk on two legs-"Bigger than you?" I interrupt. She glares. She's good at that. "Yes, bigger than me." Mother glares again for what seems like a long time before continuing on. "They walk on two legs, and they're very unpredictable. Some can be loving and gentle, but others are just as easily vicious and cruel. Now SLEEP!" Mother curls into a ball in a rather huffy motion, and falls asleep in moments.

It is dark and raining. The rounded, hollowed sides of the burrow have gone from cozy and enclosed to constricting in a few months as I've grown at Mother's side. We huddle together, and she seems calm, all except for her worried yellow eyes discreetly flicking around the small entrance of our home. Something big howls in the distance, and I feel Mother's breath hitch. A shadow passes over the tunnel's exit, and a hungry, whuffling sound emanates from a large, foreign creature. The walls of the burrow press down, holding time captive until the next lightning strike. "Wait here. No matter what happens, stay in the burrow". She stares at me until I nod yes, and then warily creeps out of the den. A thought flashes across my mind as she leaves, the idea that this must be the way she looks when she hunts mice. I mentally file the image of her stance away for further use. I try to sit rigid and count the seconds but I can feel my eyelids slowly drooping. After a careful calculation of 2.327 minutes I let myself doze, contenting myself with the thought that she must be busy with some other task after her search. I hear another howl in the distance, different this time, a challenge as opposed the past, keening warnings. All of a sudden, the growl turns to a violent snarl and there is another sound, a low yowl, intensifying into a fierce shriek before being cut off sharply. A single muffled whimper comes. Then there is only silence through the rain. I listen drowsily but nod off despite my rising curiosity at the noises.

It is morning. I stretch and roll over for my customary morning milk, but my eyes shoot open once I recognize the extra space in the den. All at once, I remember the previous night and curl into a ball, feeling very small in the den alone. After a few hours I decide to leave the burrow, hoping mother's orders to stay in the den didn't include the morning afterwards. I crawl out of our home into the leaf litter. The excursion is nerve-wracking, since I had only been outside of the burrow a few times for mother to teach me how to hunt. I stumble across my own tiny legs, staring amazed across what seems like endless trees in every direction. Making a decision quickly, I toddle off in the first direction that catches my eye. "MAMA," I call plaintively, over and over again as I walk through the underbrush. My overactive imagination creates huge, hulking, whuffling beasts behind every rock and tree. After what seems like an eternity of tottering and mewing, I collapse, whimpering to myself. Apparently laying around moaning is exhausting, because I faint for God knows how many hours before being awakened by rustling that I'm sure isn't imaginary this time. I rear up to make myself look bigger, despite my tortoiseshell fur being caked in leaves, twigs, mud, and more than a few unwelcome insects from my lengthy nap.

Suddenly a ball of orange fluff shoots out of the underbrush and lands in front of me. "What are you looking at?" The kitten says, picking himself off the ground before I can even squeak.

"Uh…you?" I mumble back confusedly as his large gold eyes look me up and down.

"Well…don't. You just cost me a particularly large mouse, y'know." He runs his tongue rather defensively across his fluffy chest hair and awkwardly begins to stalk off. "Wait," I call out as he turns from me, and run up to him. "Where are you going?" I ask him, sounding squeaky despite my best efforts.

"Anywhere," his voice says defiantly, but the rest of him seems to say nowhere. "Why? What about you?" the other kitten questions, pausing and placing his paws together curiously, the roughness in his voice gone. He is wiry and sand-colored, a little older than me, and with darker, orange striped rings circling around his form from his face to the long, smooth-furred tail wrapped carefully around his slightly lanky form.

"Well, I don't really know. My mama…she's gone…"

"Gone where?"

I halt, unsure of the answer myself, and all of a sudden feel very, very small once again, a sensation I'd never experienced until a few days ago. I long for the cozy, enclosed tunnels of the burrow, but can't imagine going back and living there without mama. "I don't know. I don't know what happened. Only that she's gone."

"Oh," he replies feebly, starting forward as if to comfort me, then just as quickly stepping back with a self-conscious little mumble. "Well, what are you, I mean we, I mean I, uh, supposed to do now? It's going to be cold tonight, and the only den I have isn't much protection. I never knew my mama, so it's not like there's anyone else to protect us. I don't know anyone else we could live with."

Out of the blue, a plan strikes its way into my mind. A desperate, uncertain plan. My very first plan, to be exact. "The Humans!" I accidentally shout the subject of my new plan out loud, and the sand-colored cat rockets into the air with a yelp, landing acrobatically on the ground and performing a double somersault upon his terrestrial reentry.

" What?!" he spits, embarrassed by his shock.

"The Humans! Mama used to tell me about them at night. She always said they were big, and unpredictable. So all we have to do is find a nice one, and maybe we can share its den." I finish my speech and face him to better observe his undoubtedly amazed expression, but he is staring down at his butyraceous paws with a sour air.

"There are none. At least, none of your so-called 'nice' ones anyway." I stare at him dumbfoundedly.

"But…how would you know? Mama said—"

"What your mama said doesn't matter now, does it?" he breaks off angrily, then seems almost ashamed by the hurt look I don't try to hide.

"Mama said there'd be days like this, y'know."

He sighs, then looks up at me more calmly. "I'm sorry, but not as sorry as I'd be if I didn't set you straight about this. Come with me. I want to show you something." I'm still angry at him, but the feeling is outmatched by his change of attitude. I follow him across a roundabout path through the grass and leaves. He stays just far enough in front of me to avoid the rising pressure of my questions and after a long time, no, several lifetimes of walking and waiting and general irritating silence, we arrive at a tree, one tree in an endless forest, one mouthful out of an ocean. The new cat turns to me proudly, and I wonder vaguely if this is the way I looked after revealing my genius plan to him. His beaming smile slowly fades as I look from the tree, then back at him several times and finally speak.

"It's a tree."

He glares at me. Hmm, just like mom. "Well… it's not just any tree. It's a veritable fortress. You're just not looking hard enough."

"It looks like a tree."

He groans. " I suppose it's no use trying to explain it to you. Look up in the crook, near the middle branches, do you see the entrance?"

I strain my eyes for a moment, then catch sight of the alleged "entrance," mainly composed of a single, tiny knothole, probably originating from squirrels, or a roving chipmunk. Mmmmm…..chipmunk. The thought kickstarts my recently absent hypothalamus into high gear, and I realize I'm starving, but I concentrate on the task at hand. "I see the knothole."

"IT'S NOT A KNOTHOLE. IT'S AN ENTRANCE!" he shouts at me, but before I can make a snappy comeback, he turns, flicking his ringed tail in annoyance as he scrambles up the tree. I make my way up more carefully, due to the falling bark and his barrage of muttered complaints from above me. "…absolutely…no…imagination…can't …believe…I expected any more…from a…kitten… born in…a hole…in the ground."

"Well sorry… I don't…live up…to your high…standards…of living…coming from someone…holed up inside a dead tree trunk." By now we have reached the crook of the tree, and he clambers inside while I wait on the branch. After several minutes of waiting, he emerges, covered in grime and holding something proportionately filthy in his mouth.

"There." He says in a finalistic way, spitting it out in front of me. It is a broken band of fabric once held in form by hard clasps, faded more from its time in the tree than by age. "This was given to me by your precious humans It's called a collar. I don't remember a lot. The first thing I can recall is the cage-"

"What's a cage?" I ask, interrupting him out of curiosity.

"It's an awful thing, with metal bars all around that keep you inside but don't protect you from anything else, like hordes and hordes of humans coming in all day long and poking you and pushing their faces up against the bars. One day more humans came. They didn't look any different than the others, but these ones seemed to like me, and took me out of the cage. That was great, at first, but they would never leave me alone. When they left I thought it was over, but they ended up taking me with them. When I got to their den they finally let me play by myself, and they fed me, and gave me a bed of my own, but the little ones, the big humans' kits, they wouldn't let me out of their sight. They were always pushing at me, and squeezing me until I could barely breathe. So I started fighting back, and at first it worked, but after a while, they wouldn't go near me. Eventually they stopped feeding me, and one day, they picked me up and brought me here with them. I liked the extra freedom, but at the end of the day they left without me and never came back. I've kept the collar since. Now do you understand why you can't go searching after those things?"

I gawk at him. I could never have expected what he said, and for a moment I'm filled with the gooey purple jelly of doubt, but immediately know what to do again. "I'm sorry your humans were like that. But I already told you, you never know with humans. I'm going to find some. Come with me. I know we can find loving, gentle ones."

"But I told you! They're evil! They never cared about me!"

"But that's the point! They're unpredictable. It's not my fault yours were like that. You haven't met every human in existence, now have you?"

"Well, no."

"Then you're finding mine with me." He sighs in a frustratingly frustrated way.

"Are you sure about this?" I nod strongly, and he finally caves in. "Fine, but only on one condition."

I prick my ears up. "What would that be?" He smiles in his irritating feline way.

"You owe me a meal."

"What?!"

"Remember? When we stumbled across each other, you scared away my next meal with your little show of defense."

"Oh, that. Fine, if you need a girl to hunt for you…" He splutters for a moment, then groans.

"Just go already!" I make my way down the tree and search stealthily for any trace of prey. Nearly half an hour later I spot my target. A particularly juicy chipmunk rests delicately on a dead log just ahead of me. I crouch, inching forward silently. The chipmunk pauses, a small grub placed halfway to its mouth warily, before continuing in its forage. I work my way up to the animal's presence, until I am almost directly beside it, peering up over the fallen trunk. Tensing every muscle in my body, I mirror my mother's defensive stance and spring.

Walking back proudly with my kill I have some difficulty carrying it up the "veritable fortress", but eventually make it with the chipmunk in my teeth. As I set it down gently in the crook of the tree, I spot my new companion sitting on a high branch, gazing out rapturously at the steadily sinking sun. He turns to me, not hiding the surprise as he sees my impressive kill.

"Let's eat." I crow cheerily before he has a chance to say anything. We dig in, and afterwards make our way into the scanty shelter of the tree for the night. It is nearly pitch-dark, the only moonlight entering through the knothole and a few tiny woodpecker perforations. If the burrow seemed confining, this protection is constrictingly tight, musty smelling, and just plain filthy, due to the insects and fungus all vying to take possession of the dead tree's last nutrients. We spend the night cramped uncomfortably together, but relatively warm because of the proximity (having bellies full of chipmunk didn't hurt, either). In the morning, we set out, following the vague but recognizable instructions from mother's stories. "She said they live past where all these trees end, there should be a river, too." I repeat my own words for the thousandth time over the last few days, more for comfort than any directional guidance. After two fearful, chilly nights in the open, we are able to follow the faint sound of the rushing water and spend the third night practically at the river's bank.

"Do you think you could show me how to, y'know…"

"How to what?"

"How to hunt. I've never managed to catch anything worthwhile, like that chipmunk."

I beam at him, and try to keep the gloating out of my voice.

What about that mouse you said I scared away?" my friend looks at the ground and shuffles his paws uncomfortably.

"I lied. It was a cricket"

"Well, I guess I could show you a few pointers." We make our way down to the riverbed and begin by stalking small crabs along the muted gray rocks.

"We haven't seen any humans yet, and there's no way to get across the river. What are we going to do now?"

The other kitten asks me. "We'll see them soon, or find some way across." I gaze at the strange shapes of the human's dens for a moment, just visible above the trees, but quickly regain my focus on the task at hand.

"You're doing it wrong." I tell him sharply as he crawls on his belly to the nearest crab. "Here. Carry your weight on your front paws. Now move forward, but keep your hips slightly higher than the rest of you." I sigh as he struts forward, chest to the ground and hips swinging wildly in the air. He looks at me angrily. "No, not like that, either."

"How am I supposed to know! You're only telling me what not to do!"

I relent and come over to him, and we stand side by side as I demonstrate the hunting stance. "See that one bigger crab, over there?"

"Yep."

"We're going to get it when I say go, alright?" He nods, and we pause together, both intent on the sizable crustacean resting directly in front of the mouth of the river.

"GO!" We pounce gracefully as one, but mid-arc, my companion twists wildly, his claws accidentally catching my fur as he panics. We land with a chaotic splash into the freezing blue-gray water, clinging to each other as the flow carries us dangerously fast, away from our destination. Despite our propinquity, the cold seeps straight through my fur and I feel my friend's lashing and kicking begin to slow as he feels the same effect. I suddenly feel sleepy and close my eyes as the water carries us further away by the second. My head begins to sink under the water and I can on longer feel my friend beside me. Abruptly, I hear voices in some strange language, and vaguely feel myself being lifted out of the water.

"Where did you come from, little ones?" I am set gently down on something soft, and another soft thing is placed on top of me. To my relief, I open my eyes and see my companion set beside me on the soft cloth. The next sight is less comforting. Two humans, even bigger than I could have ever imagined, are kneeling beside us, and they begin rubbing the upper layer of the cloth across both of our coats, and I feel a warmth spread as the water is sponged away. Without realizing it, I begin to purr, and the long-haired human laughs as I roll over, giving her (I think it's a her) better access to dry my belly, too. My friend looks more wary, huddling close to himself and grudgingly allowing himself to be rubbed down. I crawl over to him across the cloth.

"See? We found nice ones. I didn't expect to find them this way, but we found them. I told you so." He groans.

"You can't say they're nice yet. We haven't even known them for longer than a few minutes. They could be mean, too."

"They saved us, didn't they?"

"I guess so." He replies half-heartedly.

"Then they're nice. Trust me?" before he can answer, the short-haired human gently picks us up and begins to carry us. "Trust me?" I ask again, as we are carted off in the human's warm arms. His long strides create a gentle rocking motion, and I begin to feel sleepy again. My comrade looks down uncertainly for a moment, then gazes up at me, his eyes dark clear gold.

"I trust you."

The end.


End file.
